‘Anyway, she sounded hopeful, even confident, as she spoke. We were on a bus – and I had a German accent – so this was not the moment to ask questions.
‘But she told me something that night. The sirens started at about nine. She was just about to set out for La Vie but it was impossible to go. The others were all elsewhere and the two cake-shop ladies had left London months earlier – they couldn’t take any more. We went together to the cellar, which we’d made quite comfortable by then with a mattress, and a table and chairs. We’d hung up some hurricane lamps and we had a little spirit stove on a table and shelves made of planks held up by bricks. So we sat there, drinking tea and condensed milk out of enamel mugs, just like most of the rest of London, and hearing aircraft going over and explosions – by then you only worried when they were close.
‘I was in the armchair and Sally was lying full length on the mattress. “It’s surreal, our little house,” she said sleepily.
‘Now at this time there was a buzz about Sally, all over the place. No one – except Pym and a few others, I assumed – knew where she’d gone or why or what had happened. But everybody knew there’d been something – her numbers at La Vie were greeted with extra applause. Winston Churchill came down and asked her to sit at his table with General de Gaulle and a pretty woman. He laughed at what she said.
‘Even at Pontifex Street she got more consideration. She could spend hours in the bathroom without someone coming up and banging on the door and swearing at her. Julia stopped bothering about her borrowings, especially after Sally gave her some makeup and a hat with a feather in it she’d brought back from Paris. People treated her differently.
‘There was a loud crash. I said, “That sounds like Oxford Street.”
‘She murmured, “It’s quieter in Paris at night.”
‘“Nice for Paris,” I said.
‘And she said, “It’s an awful silence.”
‘I asked her, “Sally, are you going to tell me?”
‘“What?”
‘“Why were you in Paris? What happened? How did Pym get you to do it?”
‘She laughed. “I looked up an old boyfriend.”’
‘Jesus,’ Greg said. ‘Who was that?’
‘Have you any brandy?’ inquired Bruno. Greg went to get it. Bruno took a few sips then went on, adopting cadences and using words Greg thought might have come direct from the lips of Sally Bowles, so long ago. Sometimes Bruno’s memory did this, he had noted – produced near total recall.
It was like listening to a ghost now as the old man said, ‘“You see, darling, there’s a very important officer in Paris called Christian von Torgau. He’s terribly handsome, blond and blue-eyed, just like those posters they have in Germany showing big strong Aryan men. And he’s amazingly clever and totally cultured. He’d been brought up in that terribly strict way they have – eat your soup, eins, zwei, drei, sleep flat in your bed, arms outside the covers, beatings for your own good, no slouching, walk like this, sit like that. He’d been in the Army, but when I met him before the war he’d resigned. While he was still a soldier he’d made a suitable marriage to an icy bitch from a family even older than his, which went back to Genghis Khan or something. What an iceberg. One glance from Julia von Torgau and the fire would go out, literally, darling.
‘“I knew Christian very well – you know what I mean, sweetie? He wasn’t a Nazi then and neither was his wife, of course. They thought Hitler was rather horrible – and common, you know, like those families do. They believe he’s a ridiculous, vulgar little man, that they’re just using him. They’ll find out soon, if they haven’t already.
‘“Oh, God.” She groaned. “I’d forgotten – it’s just come back. How frightful. Years ago Julia caught us once in a bedroom in a sort of castle he had. She had been away but she came back early. It was a big stone room and you could see for miles from the window, huge fields with little figures bent over here and there, all toiling away for the von Torgaus. We had big logs burning in the vast fireplace and there was a bearskin on the floor in front of it. Well, there we were in front of the fire, up to our monkey tricks, when in came Julia. She took one look, icicles started dropping from the ceiling, the air froze. She stood there, then turned on her heel and walked straight out and Christian didn’t see her for a year. Dreadful, wasn’t it?” Sally said. Then she giggled.
‘She went on, “We went to France and Italy – oh, it was lovely, Bruno. Christian was so handsome – of course, he spoke all known languages, even Hungarian. It was wonderful.”
‘And,’ said Bruno, ‘in the middle of an air-raid with the building quivering round us, Sally looked up at me from her mattress with big eyes, remembering this Nazi and trying to seduce me with her memories.’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘You can imagine how successful she was with me. Then she frowned. “Well, Bruno darling, you had to hand it to Christian. He’d gone from ramrod-backed officer of the old school to Bohemian sensualist – sometimes he went a little too far, darling, even for me, if you know what I mean – and then suddenly, Nazism. I think he was one of those people who can go from one thing to another with total belief – like St Paul, or something – so up to then, he’d seen Hitler and his boys like all the other aristocrats did, useful for the country, appealing to the working classes and the petit bourgeoisie, nothing whatever to do with them, a silly little man with a silly little moustache. Then he began to convert, just like someone taking up religion. He started going on about racial purity and Germany’s destiny and all that awful stuff – oh, Bruno, it was horrible. We started to have the most fearful rows. I left and went to Spain to get the taste of Germany out of my mouth. Not that it went away because Hitler sent the bombers to Spain to kill us.”
‘Then she paused,’ Bruno said. ‘She had a lot to remember. She said, “I went back to Germany after Spain and got trapped. Christian was a Nazi and, of course, in the Army again. The war came. I left, with difficulty as you know, then Pym told me Christian was on the staff of the commandant for Greater Paris, von Studlitz. Pym made me go over there to see what I could find out. He had the goods on me.”
‘The All Clear went then and she got up and dashed out of the cellar, to get to La Vie and do her turn. Cora didn’t pay her if she didn’t show up, regardless of what had prevented her.
‘After she’d gone, I remembered I’d met the von Torgaus just once, in Berlin, just after I’d come together with Briggs. One evening he dragged me to the large house the von Torgaus had there – I remember it well. Who wouldn’t? There was I, a big youth in patched boots, clutching my cap in my sweaty hands as if someone were going to steal it, standing in the massive hall, all tiles and marble and old furniture being greeted by the svelte blonde wife of von Torgau. She wore pearls and had piled-up blonde hair. She was immaculate. I was grubby. My God, it was so embarrassing. A musical evening at the von Torgaus! Me?
‘We went into the music room. It was elegant beyond words. I’d never seen anything like it in my life, the chandeliers, the old paintings. At the end of the room there was a concert piano and music stands. I sat on a gilt chair, gripping a small drink, an elephant at a ball, while the musicians, there were three of them, played the kind of music I had seldom heard – Bach, Scarlatti, I don’t remember now, just the sounds.
‘Von Torgau was sitting beside me, very handsome, very correct, and completely absorbed in the music. His wife played the piano. A dark man was playing the violin – his appearance gave the idea that he was probably a Jew but a man of good class, that too I could see. Bent over the cello, with a lot of brown hair falling over her face, was a woman. Briefly, afterwards, we met the violinist and the cellist. The woman was called Claudia. She had an intelligent, kind face – I remember nothing else. I was so uneasy. Briggs had to take me home.
‘Anyway, Greg,’ Bruno said, holding out his glass for more brandy, ‘that was how I met, just once, the von Torgaus and their friends, Simon Stein and Claudia, whom Simon was to marry. Sally had rushed off – I never
bothered to tell her later. Nor did I ask her what she’d meant by Pym having the goods on her. I was so shocked, Greg, that Pym, even Pym, could be so ruthless. He sent her into the heart of the German Army in occupied France! Can you imagine what would have happened to her if Christian von Torgau had chosen to turn her in?’
‘She was very brave,’ Greg remarked.
‘Oh, yes,’ Bruno said. ‘Sally was brave. She couldn’t clean a bath. She was careless with money and property, her own and other people’s. She was very irritating in a thousand ways – but she was brave.’
Chapter 27
Sally was forced to spend the morning in a small room at the back of a warehouse, where the carcasses of six pigs hung from hooks. She was allowed to make one call from the office while the men were on a break.
‘Bonjour, Rover,’ she said, to her cousin Benoît, using her childhood nickname for him so that he would know it was her. ‘C’est moi, Singette.’
The conversation went on in French.
‘Where are you?’
‘Paris. Can you give me a hand?’
‘I’ll try, but my leg’s broken,’ he replied. ‘Come here at twelve. I’ll send Célestine out.’
‘Thanks. I’ll be there.’
‘Will it be fun?’ he asked.
‘A little – not much,’ she told him.
She spent more hours with the pigs. She had known her twin cousins, Benoît and Charles, would help, knew that Benoît had rapidly guessed the nature of what she was doing.
At eleven thirty Sally, smartly dressed in her pink suit and carrying papers that identified her as an assistant at a big Paris department store, left her cellar. They had told her in London that one person in the store would back her story if she was challenged. They had also said that unluckily there was a second person who might not be so helpful.
On the bus her pink suit was coolly examined by the other passengers as they rattled through the streets, which were almost empty of civilian vehicles. Three grey-uniformed soldiers got on. The pavements were full of troops and there was, to Sally, the shocking sight of swastikas hanging outside public buildings.
Surrounded by the soldiers of the Reich, Sally walked, back straight, in her fashionable suit and shoes to the big nineteenth-century block of flats in which Madeleine and Bertrand du Tour, Geneviève’s sister and brother-in-law, lived.
She opened the gilded door, with its metal fretwork, into the foyer, and took the small lift upstairs.
She rang a brass doorbell beside a highly polished wooden door. No one answered. Heart racing she rang again. Then the door opened. Benoît, short, stocky and dark-haired, grinning broadly, was there, balanced on crutches. He nodded her into the vast hall, where statues stood in niches. All was as it had always been, even the fragrance of the furniture polish, which was made at a convent somewhere in the country and sent annually to Paris.
Benoît swung himself into the salon and sat down heavily on an upholstered sofa, with a gilded wooden back and legs. He waved at a long table on which bottles and glasses stood. There was also a loaf and some cheese. ‘Help yourself,’ he said. ‘I’ve sent Célestine off to visit her family. Charles is at his philosophy lecture at the Sorbonne. I brought in what I could from the kitchen. I thought you might be hungry.’
‘Thanks,’ Sally said. She poured some wine and helped herself to bread and cheese.
‘You can take more than that,’ he told her. ‘Old Jean bikes up once a week from the farm. It’s not so good for others.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘The news says you’re being bombed into dust.’
‘It would. What happened to your leg?’
‘A long story.’
‘And Uncle and Aunt?’
‘They’re in Normandy at the farm. In general, they’re saying it’s best to co-operate with the authorities. But Charles and I know it will get worse. They’re softening us up. Soon the Gestapo will be sent here.’ He smiled. ‘Some of us are in a gang which goes out killing Germans. The patrol got to us one night and I had to jump out of a window. That was how I broke my leg. Mother and Father think I fell off my bike.’
‘That’s very dangerous, Benoît,’ Sally said.
‘Thank you for telling me, as you’re such an expert on personal safety. Why are you here?’
‘I have to get in touch with a German major at the Hôtel Crillon. I knew him in Berlin.’
‘My God.’ He gazed at her in dismay. ‘What are you – a negotiator?’ Then he looked at her disbelievingly. ‘You can’t be a collaborator?’
‘Don’t be stupid, Benoît. I’m a spy.’
‘Oh, my God.’ He put his head in his hands.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t stay here long,’ she told him. ‘One phone call, a bath, and I’ll go. I have another address—’
‘You must stay, but only till Célestine gets back the day after tomorrow. It wouldn’t be safe after that. I don’t trust her. What on earth persuaded you to be a heroine, Sally?’
‘A very nasty man,’ she said bitterly. ‘Adrian Pym. If I’m killed, remember his name. Ask Bruno Lowenthal.’
‘Bruno Lowenthal,’ Benoît repeated.
Minutes later she was saying into the telephone, ‘Christian – you know who it is. I wish to see you. Darling, I’m in Paris. Don’t push me away.’
Her voice rolled over Benoît, husky and blandishing. She closed her eye. Winked at him.
That evening Sally Bowles, in evening dress, walked into the glittering restaurant. All the white-covered tables were occupied, chiefly by high-ranking German officers, many accompanied by good-looking women. As she was approached by the head waiter, Albert, in his immaculate coat, Christian von Torgau hurried up to her
He was still tall, blond and very handsome. His clear-cut face was pale and firm. He put out a hand. ‘Sally, speak French, if you please.’
Albert led them to a table at the side of the room and seated them politely.
‘Why here?’ Christian asked, in an undertone, just before the waiter arrived at their table.
‘Anywhere more private and you might have bumped me off,’ Sally told him, then smiled graciously at the waiter, who impassively handed her the menu.
‘Why are you here? What do you want?’
‘Darling – such questions!’ Sally said, as Albert came to the table to make his recommendations. The choice was negotiated, wine poured. ‘You look so handsome in your uniform.’
‘You must surely see that this is very embarrassing for me,’ he said. ‘Where have you been all this time, anyway?’
Sally, relieved that he was unaware she had reached England, said promptly, ‘Spain. But it got on my nerves, so I came back to France.’
‘You know quite well it’s my duty to have you arrested.’
‘You say the sweetest things. How could a girl resist?’
‘I’ll arrange for you to go back to Spain,’ he told her.
That night in this occupied city, over these well-ordered tables, in an atmosphere of good scent, good food and good wine, many a plan was being laid, many a deal struck. Sally, for the time being, agreed. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you look most important, and where is Julia?’
Here the waiter brought their food. They were silent while he placed the plates before them and removed the covers with a pre-war flourish.
‘At home, in Germany,’ Christian said, when the man had gone.
‘Guarding the castle while her crusader is away?’
‘Exactly so.’
‘Have you been in a battle yet? What was it like?’
‘Unhappily there has been no battle for me. I have hopes, though, for the future. Where are you staying?’
Sally looked at him. ‘I don’t quite trust you, Christian. I love you, of course, but I’d rather not give you my address, not just yet.’
‘Sally,’ he said, ‘if you think there can any longer be anything between us, I must tell you, there cannot.’
‘Oh, Christian – Berlin
, the Riviera, Rome, don’t you remember?’
‘That was the past. The future, Sally, will be different.’
There was silence between them, as quiet talk continued all around. A roar of laughter came from a group of officers in the middle of the room.
‘Well, I’m disappointed,’ Sally said.
‘I’m sorry. But you must see it’s impossible.’
He dug his knife into a small game bird.
‘This is a nice posting for you, anyway, Christian. Paris – ville lumière – all the theatres and cabarets. Do you remember the cabarets in the old days? Joséphine Baker?’
‘Paris is a soft posting, too soft,’ he declared.
‘You’re only doing your duty.’
‘Well, Sally,’ he said briskly, putting down his knife and fork, ‘I confess I do not want to prolong this meeting. Shall we eat? And then we’ll go back to my office and I’ll arrange your documents for your return to Spain.’ He picked up his knife and fork again.
‘What a pity. I was enjoying this,’ she said. ‘Oh, Christian, this awful war. How dull it makes everything. But I know you must put duty first.’
Christian, tight-lipped, attacked his bird. Sally, dry-mouthed, ate as heartily as she could.
Later, as they walked through dark, quiet streets, many averted their eyes from the spectacle of well-dressed Sally with her high-ranking German. An old man, with one leg, spat in the gutter. The city seemed dark, though street-lamps burned. Sally was terrified as she stepped through the grisly portals of the Hôtel Crillon, guarded by soldiers. What was she doing here? How would she get out? Only the knowledge that turning back would be even more dangerous – fatal – kept her moving.
They ascended a massive staircase. At the top, where once some large picture of a battle or a French dignitary would have hung, was a portrait of the Führer, in uniform, resolution emanating from his undistinguished face. Christian took her arm. They went into his office, where lamps burned. The room was shadowy, huge and alarming. A dark painting of a seventeenth-century nobleman hung over the ornate fireplace. The heavy desk was bare.
After the Cabaret Page 10